Being Human
by fellow-traveller
Summary: Alois is a young man who works as a part-time teacher at an orphanage and a chef at a small restaurant at night in Wasserburg am Inn. He led a quiet but happy life…but little that he knew he was something bigger than he was before he lost his memories. Memories that kept on trying to break free from his mind through dreams and nightmares… [ Hetalia AU; original characters used ]


_**A/N: **__First thing first...sorry I sort of went on hiatus for Pain of Love Lasts a Lifetime. Not that I'm not writing it anymore...I guess I needed a little 'reconstruction' on the last few chapters (considering it took nearly 20+ pages for it, so I'm trying to cut that number down). Hopefully I will finish it soon. uwu _

_So here I'm trying a new story about one of my headcanons in this fandom. The headcanon is simple - when a country is dissolved (meaning no more constitution and land to call their own), it dies, naturally...something like how I would imagine Prussia would be now ('Prussia is dead' is one of my first headcanons, yeah) However, they can also choose not to...by becoming a 'mortal' human. But one needs a really strong will to do this, and there's a heavy price to wanting to become a human...in which will be explained more in this story._

_The pairing is obvious, I guess. But I'll try to add hints to others as well..._

**...**

**Chapter 1: No Other Way but Forward**

**.**

**.**

Grey smog filled in the rotten red sky, making a distorted rendition of Van Gogh's _Starry Night_ with such mismatched colours that could only be nothing but unpleasant to one's eyes. Over the sky's horizon, pillars of smoke, white and black, looked as if they were supporting the eerie painting and at the same time, adding unpleasantly to disastrous image. The foundation was bare, of ashes and blackened soil, and the smell of a thousand putrid corpses. Protruding out of it were dark silhouettes of buildings; some still retained their shape, some jaggedly cut in places, others nothing but an empty wall with naked bricks showing from both sides. The wind blew the lifeless trees to bend slightly, bringing in more of the deathly smell from every direction possible.

But there was no noise. Nothing was heard in his ears as he stood in the middle of the road; or what used to be a road; his feet nailed to the ground as his eyes and brain tried to make use of the things he experienced in this world.

In this dream world. Yes, deep inside, he was sure that it was just a dream.

The same dream he had been having for the past five years.

He knew it was a dream, despite how real his surroundings were…as if they came directly from his memories. But it shouldn't be possible. The Nazi uniform he was wearing said it all.

He was wearing the infamous mousse-green Nazi military uniform, complete with a utility belt and military boots. He had a sub-machine gun and a small backpack strapped to his torso, a Walther _P38_ in his right hand and a white armband with a medical insignia painted on it, strapped to his left arm. He noticed he also had the Iron Cross on his left breast, together with a few other medals he wasn't familiar with…and the _Parteiadler_ that he remembered so much from the history books he read, sewn on his right chest.

As much as he wanted to tear off such clothes from his body, out of fear of people's perception towards him (even if in his dream, at that moment, he was practically alone) and implemented sheer disgust of the insignias on his chest, thanks to the many stories he read about them; true or false, it didn't matter.

He just wanted to get out of this dream. And fast.

It wasn't exactly a nightmare; he was sure about it. Although it seemed so in the first few occurrences of this dream, after five years, the repeated dreams seemed almost normal. But even for a strong, young man, even dreams like this scare him.

While others wished for a their dream world of war and war zones to be disrupted by their waking into the real world, just for the sole purpose of not wanting to experience such situations, he wanted to get out from his because he didn't want to see the ending of it. He didn't want the sounds to come out and haunt him for the rest of the day.

He didn't want to see the bright light and the anger and sadness that shone together with it. The bright light that would leave him with immense fright and guilt…

As much as he didn't want to take an inch forward or an inch back from where he stood, he knew the only way to escape this silent world was to move forward and hoped the ending wasn't the same like always. And he didn't dare to look behind either…nothing awaited him there, but the smell of death and grotesque images of bloody, mutilated, dead humans piled into tall heaps like hay stacked in the middle of the grassy field.

Dead piles of human bodies closely stacked in the middle of the bloodied field.

He gave a quiet gulp and took a step forward. At first his steps were heavy, despite having done this before, but slowly he started to walk. Always aiming for the faint silhouette of the_ Bradenburger Tor_ up in the horizon that seemed to be getting further with each silent march he made on the never-ending road…

The road didn't just go straight as he had seen in square one. Eventually, he would have to stop at the intersection. As much as he didn't want to see it, as much as he didn't want to be forced to choose, he knew this was the only turn-point he had.

He knew his only way was forward, even if there were left, right and back options that he could have taken.

He did take those roads before. The one to his left led him straight to battalions of tanks, marked with the Soviet and American crests; rolling towards him with nozzles ready to fire bombs to the Nazi soldier he was in the dream. The road to his right led him to insane enemy soldiers, grabbing frightened civilians and Nazi soldiers, raping and torturing them endlessly. Once he took the road and was captured by them, almost fell to the same vile treatment before his alarm clock went off. And of course, behind him was simply death.

No other way but forward.

He stood in the middle of the cross; eyes never glanced away from the massive gates ahead of him. The end destination of his dream.

He didn't have the courage to walk on, however, not because he was scared of the outcome of doing so, but more to the sound that would surely come with every step he took.

The sound of war and battles. The sound of screams and cries.

The sound of sorrow and hate.

He didn't realize that he had been standing in the middle of the crossroads for too long, when the sure sound of tanks rumbling and guns rattling went into his hearing senses. It came in like a wheezing whisper, which gradually turned into high-pitched thunder. And that was the cue. The cue for him to run forward.

No other way but forward.

He knew what was waiting for him there. He knew what to expect next but he had no heart to face it. The feeling of deep sadness and remorse was too loud. And that voice…he didn't want to hear it. Full of anger and hatred…no matter how many times he heard it, every time was like a sharp stab to his heart and he could never pull the blade out.

But his dreams were uncontrollable. They were always the same and often went into repetition every time he went to sleep. He knew he would eventually get to that inevitable end.

As his boots crunched hurriedly amongst the war noise, as he made his way to the gate…a loud miserable scream echoed and it drowned the other sounds. Then the voice he dreaded earlier was shouted from the distance.

**_Ya nenavizhu tibya!_**

He became breathless.

He didn't know what language it was. It sounded so foreign, but the hatred in it was so strong; he could feel it. And he knew that those words were meant for him.

At that moment, lights flashed before him. In a more accurate description, he felt like he went from being able to see to being blind in split seconds. And each time his eyes were clear, all he saw was the dark red sky. The scream intensified in his ears, much more like the blood that started to cover his left eye, the pain in his head…

…and the pain in his heart.

He couldn't tell what it was or what exactly was happening to him. But when he heard those words in his dreams and the bright lights started to snap repeatedly in his eyes, it almost always left him with pain. Physically and emotionally. He didn't know why he was sad and heartbroken by those words, as if he had just betrayed a special friend without knowing it.

One final blow of the light and he found himself falling back into fouled ashen ground, overlooking the crimson sky. The noise became louder; a shadow dawned on his nearly lifeless body.

Breathless again.

.

.

x-x-x-x-x

.

Alois thought it was a bad idea to sleep on the couch. Even for a while.

And he was right.

The nightmare woke him up, abruptly made him sat up with a loud gasp. If his serious need for air was making him very uneasy, the wet cushions soaked with his own sweat was only making it worse.

He took his time to keep himself calm before he swung his legs and landed his feet on the carpeted floor. He got up and took off his damp boxers and undershirt, not bothering much about being naked. He was living alone after all, and not like he had anything to hide from his well-built body fit for an athlete or an underwear model, saved for the faint scars that were tattooed on his skin, some as large as a chainsaw cut, some thin and small like a scratch from a cat's claws.

The analog clock on the wall in the living room displayed its long arrow directly at twelve and its short arrow at the number three. Three in the afternoon.

Alois gave a loud sigh. It's still too early to get to work, but it was for the best that he got ready. He knew his boss wouldn't like the idea of him not being punctual, even if he hadn't come late for the last four years he worked in that place. He rubbed his wet face with the clothes he just wore and dumped them into the laundry basket. It was almost full and he mentally reminded himself to visit the laundry shop first thing tomorrow morning.

His hands cupped the running water from the tap and swiftly he brought the accumulated water to his face; sighing softly in relief. He let his head lay low for a moment, appreciating the soothing coldness that contradicted his heated skin, while thinking over if he should have a shower. Then, slowly, he brought his face up, facing his own reflection in his bathroom mirror.

Alois had always awed his own looks, though not much in vanity. He noted that apart from his muscular body, he was also rather handsome. He had icy blue irises; long eyelashes; short, bright blonde hair that matches his eyebrows; a sharp and well-defined nose; a pair of lips in between being thin and full; cheeks with a prominent hint of cheekbones when he smiles...he had a look most men wanted, even if in his own opinion, he looked no different than a normal German man.

Sometimes he would stare into his reflected blue eyes, questioning them what they had seen in the past. Alois knew little about his past. He had lost most of his memories five years ago, saved for only knowing his own name, coincidentally in the same time frame of his unusual nightmares. He didn't exactly know how his amnesia came upon him, but after spending weeks in a comatose state and months to get his body fixed, he learnt from his doctors that he had attempted suicide by jumping off fifteen floors up, marking his bodies with scars and losing his memories in return. The right side of his forehead near his temple fashioned a scar that still looked fresh, hidden under his short bangs…a ghastly reminder of his apparent suicide and a past he had long forgotten.

And again, Alois didn't know why he did so.

He was nineteen, as claimed by the investigators on his suicide case, and an orphan. According to them, Alois had one small family, of which he lost due to an accident between his father's car and a local bus. Both his parents died, and his younger sister, aged ten at that moment, succumbed to her injuries days after. He miraculously survived somehow, and was claimed to be living with the depression and guilt of being the only Koenig alive…in which he eventually decided to end his suffering. Cruel or not, it seemed he fooled death once again.

Well, at least that was what they told him. Alois didn't remember anything of his past life, of himself before the suicide, of his family and friends, of his parents, Catherine and Wilhelm Koenig, of his little sister, sweet little Monica… let alone knew anything of their existence. Everything told to him by people, his caretakers, his doctors, polices, judges and all authorities, could be a fabrication, for all he knew. They might not be telling him the truth…but at the same time, they might not be lying either.

Whatever it was, Alois had gone past all that. At the age of twenty-four, he learnt how to cope with his amnesia and after leaving the orphanage (and his doctors to their bafflements) three years ago, he decided to live on his own. With nothing more than donations by concerned strangers, his natural talents and his own name to bring along in his survival game…

"My name is Alois Koenig. I'm a German; I live in Wasserburg. I'm twenty-four years old…I'm an orphan." He muttered to himself; never taking his eyes off from his reflection.

As strange as it may seemed, losing nineteen years' worth of memory had made him a little traumatized that one day when he wakes up, he would forget who he is. There was nothing to confirm who he was except his name, his identification documents, a few photographs of his dead family and their death certificates. Hence, every time he wakes up from his sleep, he chanted those words to himself like a spell of remembrance.

Satisfied that everything seemed to be okay, Alois gave himself a wide smile that stretched his cheeks to the sides in a very handsome way. Narcissistic or not, he loved his face when he smiled…he felt as if he had rarely smiled before, and now that he had started anew, there really wasn't any reason not to smile at all.

Alois put his arms up and stretched, before deciding on a shave on his growing sideburns and a good warm shower to ease him up. Even with the nightmares, nothing else should go wrong that day.

He was confident of it.

.

x-x-x-x-x

.

His hand gave a final dab of oil on his cleaned hair, before he strapped on his backpack and fastened his cycling helmet on top of his head. Alois knew it would be nice to own a car at his age (and not that he couldn't afford a cheap one), but somehow traveling on a bicycle gave him a carefree sort of feeling, and he enjoyed it.

He had himself in a clean pair of dark blue slacks secured with a black leather belt that matched his shoes, and a red, crisped and casual shirt tucked in at his waist; somewhat covered under a white cardigan. He personally loved those colours and the overall clothing itself…not only was it comfortable, it sometimes gave him a sense of reminiscences of that time he lost years ago.

Ignoring the noise of the traffic and murmurs of people passing him by, Alois looked up at the late afternoon sky and gave one last glance at his watch.

"Another fifteen minutes to five…I have time," he muttered to himself; a habit he never could afford to avoid sometimes; and smiled at the fading blue sky.

He wouldn't be needed in his workplace until half past five. He had plenty of time to grab a cup of coffee at his usual coffee shop, or buy a novel at the local bookstore on his way to _Die Eichenhaus_.

_Die Eichenhaus_ is a small restaurant, fit for only a dozen or so tables for its patrons to use. It is located in a spot where it conveniently overlooks the river Inn that famously went across the small town he lived in. It was originally a three storey townhouse, sandwiched in between buildings a storey or two taller than itself…the ground floor is where the restaurant is, the upper floors are reserved for the owner and his daughter, and giving one of the other workers as rental.

He checked his pockets to make sure the keys to his apartment and the key for his bicycle chain were there, before he secured his backpack tightly to his back and rode off from the porch. He cycled on; pleased about the good weather of spring, appreciating the place he had lived in for the past four years now...

Despite the confusing, repetitive dreams he had, every day was like a new chapter of a book for him. And he always wondered what new things he would encounter soon.

He signalled his hand to take a turn to the left and continued his journey to the old bookstore he used to buy and borrow books from. While he decided silently on what sort of novel he should read that week, he noticed two men; different in all senses including height and their sense of fashion; were walking to the opposite of where he was heading to. He found it strange that they had their sunglasses on, when it clearly the sun was nearly setting in the West. Moreover, the lonely street they were in was not only void of people and cars, but also nearly void of good natural lighting.

"Tourists..." Alois mumbled to himself. Nevertheless, he smiled and gave a small wave to the men, before he swerved away from their path and continued on. He continued his way to the bookstore, thinking nothing significant to the odd seconds of encountering these tourists, as he had always seen tourists around in this small town in Rosenheim.

Somehow the way they slowed down from their strides and stared at him behind those dark glasses gave the German the creeps.

.

x-x-x-x-x

.

"Really?! Are you sure it's him?!"

A man with distinguishable thick eyebrows and messy blonde hair cringed as he heard the loudness of the voice behind the receiver of his cell phone. He held the gadget away from his ear, hissing curses with a thick English accent. When he was sure the person he was talking to wasn't shouting with his words, he continued:

"Of course! I am bloody positive of it!"

"Are you really, really sure…? I mean…it's not always that you're right. You used to name a few who looked like him and it turned out it wasn't him…"

"Oh, put a sock in it! Well…he did look a tad different, but I sure know that smile when I see one! And if I am wrong, hook me on a keelhauling and bring me down into Davy Jones' locker!"

"Hey, hey! Don't be so drastic, _mon chéri._"

A taller man with chin whiskers that matched the colour of his long, wavy blonde hair whispered to his colleague in a lesser urgency and excitement. Unlike his friend, he wasn't too enthusiastic about the topic of their conversation…and since he knew he was the more patient one of the two, he carefully grabbed the cell phone (much to his colleague's protest) and began to talk in his gentleman-like voice:

"We think it's him this time. The way he saw us though…it seemed like he might recognize us."

"Maybe… Look…uh, just follow what we had planned. So yeah…talk to him. Hopefully he knows—"

"He has to know. It's not like he had forgotten about us….right, _mon ami_?"

"…I can only hope so. After all…it was our fault from the start. We did this to him, we had to mend things back…"

"…just the way it was..."

"Just the way it was."

.

...


End file.
